"Every time someone came near her," I whisper.
"You were looking."
He freezes. For the first time, uncertainty creeps into his face.
"You followed her everywhere."
His face is getting almost red with embarrassment.
"You stalking her or something?"
A slow smile spreads across my mouth. This night is full of irony. He shifts again, trying to regain control of the situation.
"I'm trying to understand something."
My voice is almost conversational. He frowns. Only waiting for the words to leave my mouth.
"How a man can see a woman look at him like that... and still think she wants him anywhere near her."
His jaw clenches.
"That's none of your business, again."
"You're right."
I allow a small, lethal pause to stretch between us.
"But touching her made it mine."
That finally snaps something in him.
"Alright, that's enough," he says sharply, stepping forward and shoving a finger against my chest.
"Take the mask off or get out of here before I make you."
The contact lasts less than a second. But it's enough.
My cold gaze drops briefly to the finger pressing against the fabric of my suit. Then, I slowly lift my eyes back to his face.
"You really shouldn't do that."
He scoffs, though the sound is hollow now.
"Or what?"
For a moment, I just look at him, memorizing every feature of his face. I study his arrogance, his misplaced assumption that the world will continue to behave the way it always has for him.
"You've already made countless mistakes tonight..."
My voice drops even lower, becoming a vibration he can feel in his bones.
"But the main one was walking into this room."
Silence settles over us like a shroud. He searches my mask, trying to decide if I'm bluffing, his eyes widening as he tries to figure out why the back of his neck suddenly feels like ice.
"Who the fuck are you?"
He asks, his voice cracking just enough to betray him. The question lingers in the dim light of the salon.
